


If you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did

by justhockey



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Evil Brad Marchand, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jamie is understanding, M/M, Misunderstandings, Past Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 15:16:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21199781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justhockey/pseuds/justhockey
Summary: Jamie freezes, can’t even think as he watches Tyler shield his face from him.“Go on then,” Tyler says as he lowers his arms, “hit me.”His voice is steady but his lip trembles and his hands shake.Jamie’s heart stops.





	If you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Cinnamon Girl_ by Lana Del Rey.

It’s only October. The end of October, mind you. But still. Basically the start of the season, so there’s no _real_ need to worry. Like, the Blues were at the bottom of the league in January and they won the fucking cup, so. They still have plenty of time to get their shit together and start stringing together a few wins at a time. No big deal. They’re fine, everything is _fine._

Except.

They’ve lost nine games and only won four, and getting shutout by the fucking _Pens_ feels like the final nail in the coffin. 

Jamie is barely scoring, and neither is Tyler. He has only five points, and Tyler is at six. Which, sure, if they were on the second or the third line, if they didn’t have the C and the A, if they _weren’t_ the faces of the franchise, then that would be fine. But they’re all of those things, which means they’re about due another public callout from Lites about how shit they both are. 

And like, sure everyone says that his callout worked, because they started putting points up after that, even made it to the second round of the playoffs. But those people are _so_ fucking wrong. All it did was terrify Tyler - Jamie hadn’t seen him that bad since he first moved to Dallas after Boston traded him. He barely ate, barely slept, just trained and worked his ass off until he started putting points on the board again. 

So yeah, it may have got them scoring, but Jamie doesn’t ever wanna see Tyler like that again, so terrified he’s going to be traded that he can barely breathe with the weight of it. He spent so many nights holding Tyler to his chest while he shook and sobbed, so afraid that the Stars would decide he’d become replaceable just like Boston had, so afraid that he and Jamie would be thousands of miles apart. 

He’d rather never play hockey again, never step on a rink again in his _life_, than have to go through another couple of months seeing Tyler like that, so worn down and unlike himself. It was hell. 

So fuck Lites. And fuck _everything_ right now, because Tyler looks miserable as he packs up his gear, they _all_ do. And it’s Jamie’s job to fix it, but he just doesn’t know how, not when he’s feeling miserable too. 

So he tells them they’re gonna work on things, that they’re gonna get better, and then he and Tyler leave, because there isn’t really anything else to say right now. Nothing is gonna make anyone feel better anyway. 

*

The car ride home is mostly silent except for the radio softly playing in the background, but that soon changes when they get into the house. There’s an excited patter of feet from the dogs, but neither of them are in the mood to do much more than give them all a head scratch. 

Jamie drops his keys on the dining table and then, out of pure frustration, slams his fist down beside them. 

“What the _fuck_ Jamie?” Tyler yells. 

“Oh give me a break,” Jamie yells back. 

And he knows that getting pissed at each other isn’t going to help anything, and it certainly isn’t going to make them win, but there’s so much frustration built up inside of both of them that it’s hard to keep it buried for too long. 

“I know you’re fucking stressed but there’s no need to act like a toddler having a temper tantrum,” Tyler says.

Jamie knows he should keep his mouth shut, and he knows that yelling back isn’t going to make either of them feel better, or help their on ice situation, and yet. 

“Like you’re one to talk!” He laughs bitterly, “You’re incapable of acting like a fucking adult.”

Tyler’s brows rise and his mouth drops open slightly. He won’t ever admit it, but Jamie knows that was too far, knows he’s hurt him. He steps forward towards Tyler, but Tyler immediately takes a step away from him shaking his head, both angry and upset. 

“Fuck you! Just because you can’t lead this team, it doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me!”

He knows the second the words leave Tyler’s mouth that he regrets them. His hands fly up to cover his mouth and his eyes widen in shock, like he can’t believe he’s just said them. Jamie knows he doesn’t mean them, knows it’s just frustration and exhaustion that made him lash out, and he also knows he deserves it for what he said to Tyler, but still. 

He takes a step closer to Tyler, throws his hands in the air as he yells, “I’d love to see you do any better!”

But the words barely leave his mouth before Tyler is flinching backwards, bringing his hands up to cover his face. Jamie freezes, can’t even think as he watches Tyler shield his face from him. 

“Go on then,” Tyler says as he lowers his arms, “hit me.”

His voice is steady but his lip trembles and his hands shake. 

Jamie’s heart stops. 

“Wh-what?” He stutters, “What the _fuck_ Tyler? Why would I hit you?”

Jamie can’t believe they’re words that have ever had to leave his mouth. He feels sick at the thought of his Tyler ever being afraid of him, of Tyler thinking he would ever lay a hand on him. He doesn’t know what he’s done to make Tyler think he’d hurt him, this is one of the first times they’ve ever even raised their voices at each other. 

His hands start to shake. 

“Because its all my fault,” Tyler whispers, avoiding making eye contact by looking at the floor. 

And fuck Jamie is surprised Tyler can’t hear his heart crack straight down the middle, because the knowledge that Tyler thinks he isn’t good enough, that he’s to blame for literally _anything_, it’s too much to bear. 

He doesn’t even hesitate to cross the room to Tyler, and is beyond relieved when he doesn’t flinch as Jamie wraps his arms around him and pulls him to his chest. He wants to say something but he can’t quite find the words yet so he just holds Tyler tightly for a few minutes. He doesn’t think Tyler is crying, but Jamie knows he’s just a few seconds away from tears himself. 

“It’s not your fault, Tyler,” he says, and when Tyler shakes his head he holds him tighter. 

“Tyler, baby, listen to me?” He says, gently taking hold of Tyler’s chin and tilting his head so he’s looking Jamie in the eye, “None of this is your fault, okay? But even if it was, Ty, I would _never_ hit you, surely you know that?”

Tyler’s lower lip quivers and tears begins to fall from his eyes. He closes them tightly so he doesn’t have to see Jamie’s face, but Jamie just leans down and presses his lips to Tyler’s forehead then wipes away the tears trailing down his face. Jamie is gentle but Tyler lets out a sob, his head falling forward until it’s buried in Jamie’s chest. Jamie breathes deeply and tries not to cry as he wraps his arms back around Tyler’s shaking body. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay baby, I promise,” he murmurs, pressing kisses into Tyler’s still damp hair. 

He shifts their position so he’s leaning back against the kitchen counter with Tyler resting almost all of his weight on him. Slowly Tyler’s arms find their way around Jamie’s waist, and Jamie can’t help but sigh in relief. He watches the hands on the clock slowly ticking, counts the seconds as they stand there, clinging onto each other like they’re all they have in the world. 

After exactly five minutes Jamie pulls back a little, his heart aching as Tyler and whines and tries to press himself closer. 

“Baby,” Jamie says softly, “I’m started to get worried, you need to talk to me.”

Tyler just presses closer to Jamie, hides his face in chest and breathes deeply. 

“Ty, it’s okay. Whatever is going on, it’s okay. But you have to talk to me.”

After a few seconds Tyler pulls back. He looks at Jamie briefly, then takes hold of his hand and guides them into the living room. He sits down sideways on the sofa, and crosses his legs underneath him while he waits for Jamie to sit beside him. Jamie sits down next to him, reaches out to take hold of Tyler’s hand again, and runs his thumb over the skin on Tyler’s hands. 

Tyler doesn’t say anything, so Jamie starts. 

“Why did you think I was going to hit you, Tyler? I’ve never, I _would_ never,” Jamie says. 

Tyler drops his head again, “I’m so sorry.”

Jamie uses the hand that isn’t holding Tyler’s to brush his curls out of his eyes and tilt his head up again. “You don’t ever have to apologise,” he promises. 

Tyler’s eyes shine with unshed tears and he chews nervously on his bottom lip. 

Jamie feels his blood run cold as he looks into Tyler’s eyes and realisation dawns on him. 

“Is that what he used to do?” He asks, trying to keep his voice steady. 

A single tear slides down Tyler’s cheek and he chokes back a sob as he nods. 

Jamie doesn’t hesitate to pull Tyler into his arms. 

He feels his hands shake with pure rage. He knows that Tyler and Marchand never dated, just hooked up, but he also knows that Marchand is the only person in Boston who would have done that. He feels sick to his stomach at the thought of Marchand lashing out at Tyler every time the Bruins weren’t playing well, laying his hands on him after every loss. 

And suddenly things start to add up. 

When Tyler was first traded to Dallas, the afternoon before his first game against Boston Jamie had found him hunched over the hotel toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach into it. He was pale and shaking and the sight broke Jamie’s heart, but he’d figured it was just nerves about playing against his old team, that it would pass. But then before their second game against them, Jamie had shown up at Tyler’s apartment and found him sitting in the empty bathtub, fully clothed and hysterical. 

It had never gotten any easier. Every single game against Boston turned Tyler into a wreck, and ok. Jamie _knew_ Boston had been bad for Tyler, they’d been bullies and had driven Tyler to alcohol to cope. But he always knew that Tyler’s response to playing them was extreme - he’d just held him close and ran his fingers through his hair until Tyler calmed down enough to shower and get ready for the game. 

But now it makes sense. It wasn’t _Boston_ he was afraid of, it was Marchand. 

“I’m so sorry, Ty. I’m sorry he did that to you, and that I didn’t know,” Jamie says quietly, still running his hands over Tyler’s back. 

“It’s not your fault, Jamie, it’s not. I’m sorry,” Tyler apologises unnecessarily. 

“You don’t have to say sorry, Tyler. You haven’t done anything wrong,” Jamie promises, resting his forehead against Tyler’s and cupping his face carefully. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tyler whispers, his hands curling into Jamie’s shirt. 

“I’ll never hurt you, Tyler. I promise.”

Tyler smiles sweetly and Jamie can’t resist pressing their lips together briefly. 

“I know,” Tyler says, “I know, I just, you were yelling, and we keep losing, and I just,” he doesn’t finish his sentence. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t mad at you babe, I promise. I didn’t mean what I said,” Jamie assures him, running his hands up and down Tyler’s arms subconsciously. 

Tyler smiles and rests his hand on Jamie’s cheek, “I know. I didn’t mean it either.”

“I know,” Jamie smiles back. “What do you want to do?”

Tyler chuckles, “Go to bed.”

Jamie stands up and holds his hand out to Tyler. 

“Then let’s go.”

*

“Thank you,” Tyler whispers later, when they’re lay in bed together with all the lights turned out. 

“What for?”

“For always making me feel safe.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hate Marchand but this is entirely fiction and I in no way mean to imply he’s actually abusive in any way.


End file.
